Elemental Force
by Kherezae
Summary: Set seven years after Ocarina of Time; Link and Zelda have no memories of their alternate past, but the magic of the Ocarina is stretching thin holding the alternate timelines together, and soon it will snap.
1. PART ONE: PARADOX : prelude

**author's note**

This is an Ocarina of Time based story, although it acknowledges Majora's Mask as well. It is set seven years after the end of Ocarina of Time and assumes that Link and Zelda don't have memories of what happened in that alternate history (you'll remember that Zelda reset time after the game). The characters and setting, of course, are not mine.

* * *

**PART ONE : PARADOX**

_prelude_

Ganondorf's crystalline prison bound Zelda—physically and magically. She could see and hear perfectly, but she couldn't move and she couldn't cast magic outside the confines of her prison. Ganondorf played his organ with that mocking grin on his face, laughing up at her. "Where's your hero now, Princess?" His voice was deep, grating, like rocks crushing; it bit into Zelda's mind, through her defenses.

_He's coming. He's safe._ Her cheeks felt warm; a tear traced its way down the side of her face. _I can't do anything, not yet. But I don't have to listen to this._ Her mind cried out for Impa, reached out for her mentor, the Sage. Ganondorf could trap her magic within the crystal prison above his eerie organ, but she could still use it to commune with the Sages within her own spirit.

The ethereal blue room coalesced in her mind, blocking Ganondorf's wicked face from her vision and the sound of his grating laugh and chilling organ music from her ears. The chamber was a wraith; free of the crystal, Zelda could have gone to the Chamber of Sages itself, but for now this mental illusion would have to do. "Impa?" she thought; in the dream chamber, she spoke it, her voice echoing softly.

"I'm here," the Sheikah woman replied calmly, taking form on the pedestal of the Shadow Sage.

"So are we," Nabooru added as she and the last four Sages took form on their own pedestals. Zelda looked around at the familiar faces: Ruto, her pale blue face drawn into a solemn expression; Rauru, his white beard hiding his expression but for the worry in his eyes; Saria, Link's childhood friend, the composure of her features belying her childlike appearance; and Darunia, his face inscrutable. Their presence was familiar, comforting. She'd only known most of them well for a handful of weeks, but trying times brought people close quickly.

"Link—he's alright?" Zelda asked, clasping her hands nervously before her.

"He's on his way," Saria replied in a child's high voice. Her tone held none of the sparkle of youth. She sounded weary, slightly afraid. "It won't be long."

The soft noise Rauru made in his throat brought Zelda's eyes to his face. With a long, sad look, he said, "Impa needs to speak with you about what's to be done… after this is over." She could see right through the confidence he forced into his voice; all of them wished, hoped, pleaded to the Goddesses for the best, but everything was up to Link. And Link… _Link is still just a child,_ Zelda thought with a resigned calmness. She nodded, keeping her features composed. Rauru shared a glance with the other five Sages, and then he, Ruto, Saria, Nabooru, and Darunia faded out of the wraith Chamber of Sages.

Impa watched Zelda in silence for a moment before stepping off of her pedestal and into the center of the chamber. The Sheikah woman strode forward to face her, face as empty of emotion as ever. The face was so familiar to Zelda, and comforting despite its lack feeling. Or maybe that was precisely why it was so comforting. Impa's face made no promises. There was no fear, no worry, but neither was there hope. _What will come… will come._

"Princess, Link will have to weaken Ganon," the Sheikah began quietly.

"I know," Zelda stopped her. "Link weakens him, and we seal him away into the Evil Realm." Warily, wearily, she asked, "What else?" _I know you. I'm not going to like this._

"Once that's done, you will have to set back time," Impa said quietly. "Ganon has done too much damage to our realm. We've lost seven years to him."

"What?" What was Impa talking about? Were the Sages losing their sanity? "If we do that, we'll just undo his defeat. Ganondorf will just take over again!"

"No," Impa replied calmly. She had expected the response; Zelda could tell. "Ganondorf will remain in the Evil Realm. He'll simply disappear from our world of seven years ago." Then, her voice almost gentle, she added, "We have the power to undo all the harm Ganondorf has caused. We could rebuild, but this way you will have your childhood back—and so will Link, and Ruto, and all of the children Ganondorf has slaughtered."

Zelda bowed her head, thrills running through her like lightning. "Link and I…?"

Impa shook her head immediately, white strands brushing her cheeks with the motion. "Princess, you won't remember anything—you won't, Link won't, and Ruto won't. Only the Sages who were of age when this started will remember—we've had our childhood. We can bear the memories, if only to make sure none of our mistakes are repeated."

"But this way, we'll have a chance, Impa. I know he's just a child—I _understand_ that, Impa, but I love him! Maybe this way…"

The Sheikah put firm but gentle hands on Zelda's shoulders so that she could not escape the blood red eyes of the Sheikah lineage. Zelda knew those eyes—she'd seen them ever since she was a small child, and she'd known them better than the blue ones of her father—but now they sent a chill running down her spine. White tines of paint extended below her eyes like ghosts escaping the blood of gruesome deaths. "That isn't meant to be. You will probably never see Link again. I'm sorry, Princess, but you won't remember him. You won't miss him."

Her voice tried to rip its way from her throat, clawing its way out in a single, strangled word: "Why?"

Impa fell silent for a long moment, her ruby eyes flickering as she searched Zelda's face. Her reply came slowly. "You… have enough to worry about, Princess. Fight this final battle, and it will all be over."

The Sheikah took her hands from Zelda's shoulders and faded away, breaking the fragile connection between them. Zelda bowed her head, her heart tightening painfully. She felt guilty. She was doing this for all of Ganondorf's victims. She had more important things to worry about than a silly crush… or even a true love. She resigned herself to the task ahead and let go of her grip on the phantom chamber in her mind.

The Chamber of Sages wavered around her and shimmered out of sight; the world went from shades of blue to pink-tinged. Through the walls of her crystal prison, she could see the door across the room open slowly, and her hero in green walked in, cautious and determined. _Link…_

The haunting organ music stopped.

**xx**

It was dark. Cold. And… pain. Sometimes, sometimes the pain was numb—blessedly numb. Sometimes she seemed to float in the darkness, detached; there was no world. Nothing was real. And the pain was sweet miles away.

Not now. Now, the pain was focused in her abdomen. Hunger cramps. The thought of food… She just didn't think about it. She rocked in the black. Hard wall scraped against her spine. Her feet and hands, at least, were nearly numb; she could dimly feel the throbbing pain of rat bites, some of them to the bone.

The distant rattle of keys. Echoing footsteps. She tensed, her eyes turned in the direction of the door, though she couldn't see it—there was a scrape of metal, and a sudden light in the room. The crack of tin against stone meant food, and she lunged. The tittering of rats filled her ears—she would have it first. She was bigger. The rats would be wary. The food was hers.

Half of it was spilled out on the floor. Tasteless broth, but with nourishing chunks of meat or vegetable in it. She sheltered the bowl with her body, lapping up what she could from the floor, her stomach screeching at her. Her throat tightened with sick, but she forced the dirty food down. She couldn't taste the dirt. She hadn't eaten in so long her throat had forgotten how to take the food.

Rats skittered about her, brushing against her skin. She took the bowl in her hands, pushing herself back against the stone wall of the cell, kicking at any rats that touched her legs. Gulped the food down.

And then it was all gone. She licked the bowl, trying to find any remnants of nourishment, but there was nothing. Scrabbling toward the door, she pushed at rats lapping up infinitesimal pools of broth; screeching, the creatures fled away, their claws tapping against the stone floor. She felt with her hands, trying to find any wet, any sign of food, but there was nothing. It was all gone.

She retreated to the wall again.

Something gnawed at the back of her mind. Cold sweat prickled along her skin; she could feel the gooseflesh rising all over. The pain throbbed. Food… was bad. Food was bad. Food meant…

More footsteps, jangling keys. The distant thrum of something… familiar. Rhythmic. "Again. No," she said, but her voice was hoarse and scratching, hardly audible. It hurt. She closed her mouth, pressed her back against the wall. Grating of metal—the key in the lock. The door swung open; she squinted against the light. Just firelight, but next to black… She heard a whimpering sound coming from deep in her own throat.

Again. She knew this. A woman with cruel eyes stepped into the room, grabbed her roughly by the arm. She was yanked up. Her legs tried to support her weight, but collapsed. She crashed to the floor, her knees striking the stone with a crack. The woman yanked her up roughly, growling, and dragged her from the room. Her feet scraped over rough stone.

_Nonononononono… No… No no no…_ Her cheeks grew wet, and she cringed, bringing the back of her hand up to her face. She wiped at her cheek and pulled her hand away, looking at it. Dirty, streaked with black, so she could hardly see her own skin. But the only red of blood was on her fingers. Her face wasn't bleeding. They were… tears. "No no no," she whispered, the words harsh and strangled. Her voice hardly sounded real.

The woman hissed something down at her, shaking her and yanking her up by the arm. When she didn't move, the woman picked her up as if she were a bag of something disgusting. Red hair fell over the woman's shoulder. It ended just above her face, partially blocking her view of the woman's head.

She whined and twisted, flares of pain shooting through her muscles at the movement. The woman spat something at her, her voice hard and hot with desert fire, and shook her fiercely.

Up stairs. Out into the night sky. Sand blew over her skin, stinging her open wounds, her cracked lips, her eyes. She closed her eyes, whimpering and twisting again… no idea what was happening… no idea where or who she was… Or so she tried to convince herself. She slipped from the woman's grip and fell, landing hard on stone with a series of cracks and a scream that tore its way from her raw throat. The woman yelled heatedly, and she felt a sharp pain in her side. The woman yanked her up by what was left of her hair. She cried out, trying to raise her hands to protect her scalp, but she had no strength.

New voices. Dreaded voices. The woman let her go, and she dropped like a stone, her head hitting hard ground. The world blinked away.

Searing heat flooded through her, and she came awake, arching as all her muscles spasmed. She felt herself screaming, felt the sharp tearing in her throat, but she couldn't hear. Healing. Painful, painful healing. She could feel her flesh mending. She could feel every part of her body. Her blood. Her bones. Her marrow. Her skin.

And the words came, words she could always understand, words that weren't words. Words that were pain, searing through her mind. _You're in horrible shape, pet._ **Yes, horrible shape. But we can fix that.** _We take care of you, dear._ And that awful cackling, ripping through her veins.

She blinked as the pain began to fade away. Flexed the fingers of one hand. Stiff. Bruised. Weak. But the rat bites, the open, bloody wounds—gone.

Wet formed on her eyelashes and streaked down the sides of her face. Her eyes flicked over. The two horrible women. Panic rose in her core like a viper, baring its fangs to strike for her heart. They loomed over her, wrinkled green-tinged skin stretched over skull-like faces with huge noses dominating their features. Each bore a jewel on her forehead, one glittering red and the other blue in the moonlight. Their hair seemed alive in the dim nighttime light, one glowing like icy blue crystal, the other flickering like firelight.

**You remember us,** the voice cackled in her head. Its false sweetness burned like acid. She closed her eyes, straining to keep the voice away, but she was weak. She was always weak. _Sweetling, we shall take offense if you keep locking us out._

Go away go away go away, no no nonono.

_**Look. Now.**_ Her eyes snapped open. A woman leered over her, an iron rod in her hand. The tip glowed red-hot, sizzling in the cool night air. **Do you see, dear? You've made us angry.**

She tried to move away, but her muscles were frozen. The iron descended toward the bare skin of her abdomen until she could feel the heat emanating over her stomach. _Beg._

Please please please nonono no no!

The cackling froze the blood in her veins. The heat pressed against her skin until it was searing, melting, writhing, screaming—

Something was changing—

The _pain_, it burned her alive, from the inside out, until she didn't exist, until she was reforged, writhing, screaming, crying—

"Naizhen, Naizhen, sweetie, wake up. It's just a nightmare, baby." The voice was strained slightly with fear, and it was familiar, so familiar.

She opened her eyes.

"Papa?" She reached out to touch his face, the bristle of beard. Kind, worried green eyes looked down on her, and she felt a comforting hand on her head.

Panic rose in her belly. What was this? She had words. She had words! Where was she? She twisted, bolting upright, and looked around. Her room. She knew her room.

"What's wrong, Nai? It was just a nightmare, sweetling, you can go back to sleep. You can sleep with Mama and Papa if you like." He put a strong hand on her back, and she flinched.

_It's a trick, it's a trick._

"Come on, baby," he said, sweeping her up in a strong, familiar, _comforting_ embrace. "You'll calm down once you get back to sleep." He carried her over to the bed he shared with Mama, pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead and lowering her onto the bed. Her mother wrapped an arm around her sleepily and gave her another kiss on the forehead, murmuring slurred, comforting words. "It's alright, Nai. Go back to sleep," Papa said.

She took in her mother with wide eyes. The familiar deep-honey-toned, heart-shaped face; gentle hazel eyes, hooded with sleepiness; light red-brown hair in a gentle wave.

She listened. The women's voices were gone. Their cackling—gone. Was this real?

"You're safe," Papa's voice slurred, and he put an arm over her waist. She felt warm. She didn't feel pain. She… believed him. Her panic began to fade, overcome by the thick blanket of sleep.

To rest, safe and warm. It felt alien. It felt normal. It felt… right. She slipped away.

* * *

**author's note**

I have the whole plot for this planned out in detail. That said, I only have one more chapter complete (written) after this, and I've tried writing it before and stalled partway through--not for lack of ideas, but because I was drawing it out too much. I'm much better about that now. All the same, I don't intend to commit time to this if there's no interest in it, so if you want to read more, please review.


	2. One : Nightmares

**One : Nightmares**

There was evil. Pervading everything, surrounding him, enclosing him. Shapes he couldn't quite make out moved around him in every direction, screaming danger and pain and hopelessness. The feelings tried to weigh him down, but he was too strong. With a gasp, he forced himself upright, the Sword in his hands. Ready.

Moonlight filtered in over the floorboards. The world spun into focus around him: his bed sheets, tangled around his ankles; his muscles taut and trembling, his hands gripping air where a moment ago a sword had been; the familiar surroundings of Impa's home, with Paul sleeping soundly on his mat just feet from Link's own, completely undisturbed by the nightmares that had ripped Link so violently from his sleep. With a grunting snore, the older man rolled over in bed, muttering unintelligible dream words.

The distinct feeling that something was _wrong_ still prickled at the back of Link's neck, raising the fine hairs there and making his breathing quiet and shallow. He forced his muscles to relax and lowered his arms to his sides, but he couldn't bring himself to lie back down. He wasn't ready to face sleep again, not when there were nightmares lurking around the corners of his mind.

He kicked his sheets away from his ankles to free his feet and crossed to the wooden railing at the edge of the house's partial second story. _It still doesn't match,_ he thought to himself, running his fingers along the banister. He felt his uneasiness begin to drip away. The wood of the railing was younger than the rest of the wood in the house, and though it was beginning to wear, its color was still slightly darker. He leaned his forearms on the banister, taking in the ground floor, parts of it illuminated by moonlight and parts by the dim glow of the stove along the right wall.

"I've always had the nightmares," he murmured idly to Navi. "But they've gotten so much _worse_ in the last few weeks, and I have no idea why." When his fairy companion didn't reply, he turned away from the banister, looking for her—but the fairy glow he thought he'd seen was only the moonlight streaming in through a window behind him. For a moment, he searched for Navi, confused; then he remembered that the fairy wasn't there. _I haven't seen Navi in… seven years. Why would I think she was still with me?_

He turned with a low growl and crossed his arms on the railing, resting his forehead on them and closing his eyes. _What's wrong with me? I should have stopped having nightmares years ago. If I could just _remember_ them!_ He pounded the banister with the side of his fist and felt his hair fall into his eyes, its tips tickling against his skin. _Adults don't have nightmares. Not every night._ The only one his age who shared the nightmares…

"Zelda." Link shook his head and straightened up, giving a resigned sigh.

Something familiar and comforting tickled at the back of his mind. He tried to shrug it away… something about it… but it crept forward anyway. Notes he knew in every bone of his body. Soothing, but hated. Frustrating. He found himself humming the familiar tune—gentle, rhythmic, and as sure and pervading as the evil of his nightmares.

He couldn't fight it. He moved back to his mat, not bothering to rearrange the sheets before he collapsed on it, sleep closing in.

**xx**

Angie had food on the table when Link returned to the house at midday. His loose green tunic felt a bit tighter than usual because of the way it clung to his sweat-soaked skin. After a morning spent on the roof under the summer sun with only a heel of stale bread in his stomach, Link was more than ready for something to eat. "Morning, Angie," he greeted the friendly red-head, blinking the sweat out of his eyes.

"Afternoon, more like," Angie replied ruefully. She tossed him a wash rag and added, "You could've hiked down to the stream an' rinsed off, y'know." She wrinkled her nose at him with a playful grin.

Link used the rag to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his stomach giving an insistent rumble. "Sorry." He sat in a chair across the food-laden table from where Angie stood and grabbed a bread trencher, dipping it in the pot of cucco stew at the center of the table. "That section of roof is ruined. It'll cost a fair amount of rupees to fix… I can do it, but Impa will want to know, and I don't know if there are enough old carpentry supplies in Kakariko. We may have to send someone to Castle Town."

"You should go," Angie suggested, her tone level as she conveniently avoided Link's gaze by turning to grab them each an apple. Link paused with his food partway to his mouth to stare at her; he didn't say anything as she placed an apple in front of him and put hers next to her plate. "I'm sure your friends there miss you," she added when he didn't reply. "How long's it been since you seen Impa, Kale, Sheik—Zelda?"

Link tore a bite off of his stew and bread 'bowl' and chewed while he collected his thoughts. She _knew_ how awkward things were for Link at the palace. He did miss Kale, who he hadn't seen in at least four months, and even Sheik and Impa—even Zelda, _especially_ Zelda, but…

"I heard you again las' night," Angie said as the silence between them stretched. "Paul may be a sound sleeper, but your nightmares wake me in abou' the same fright they wake you." She bit into her apple, her eyes focused on him intently; he glanced away as he swallowed his food, glancing to her bed in the corner where the cow pen once was.

"Where is Paul, anyway?" he asked, fingering the bread trencher in his hands.

"Feeding the animals," Angie replied with a hint of exasperation in her voice. "He'll be back in a bit. Link, your nightmares're getting worse. Still no idea what they are? Can't remember 'em at all?"

Angie never was one to allow a change of subject just because he felt uncomfortable. Link looked back at her, taking in the concern in her expression. "They're getting worse, and I still can't remember them at all," he agreed. "Lately I have this feeling that there's something around me when I wake up. Something evil." He tried a rueful expression, but it felt awkward, fake. "I can remember thinking I'm holding a sword… and last night I thought Navi was still with me."

"That's it?"

He nodded. "That's the most I've ever remembered from the nightmares, and I'm not sure that's even really _remembering_…" He took another bite of his midday meal, staring past Angie and shaking his head to himself. The distant hum of a familiar melody haunted the fringes of his mind, and he growled in the back of his throat, shaking his head to clear it. "That stupid _song_!"

"When you were younger you loved that song," Angie remembered ruefully. "Zelda's Lullaby, aye? You loved that one and Epona's Song."

Link sighed and nodded vaguely. "I did. But the lullaby is always stuck in my head after the nightmares. It seems like they're connected somehow."

"Starting without me?" Paul's voice rang out almost before the house door opened with a soft clatter against the wall. "I'm out there making sure the pigeons and cows don' die of hunger, and you lot're eating without me?" He grinned teasingly and sat himself in a chair facing a plate; to its credit, the sturdily built chair didn't creak protest, but only because Link had built Impa's new chairs to withstand the man's muscle.

"They're cuccos," Angie protested with a light laugh. Glad for the shift to a more familiar and comfortable topic, Link added, "And Epona isn't a cow, how many times does she have to bite you before you stop taunting her like that?"

"She bit me first," Paul retorted playfully as he began putting food on his plate. "I'm just defendin' my honor." He spooned food into his mouth, attempted to smile with cheeks full of stew, and failed miserably.

Angie glanced across the table at Link and raised an eyebrow pointedly; he sighed in mock defeat and announced, "I'll head to Castle Town this afternoon. Anything either of you want me to get while I'm there?"

One meal, one trip around Kakariko to see who needed something from Castle Town, one clumsily written list that Angie couldn't help teasing Link about, and one treat for Epona later, Link was in the saddle and ready to go. Epona snorted and brought her head around for one last goodbye pat from Angie, who she had become attached to. As she pet the horse's nose, Angie grinned up at Link and said, "I hope you can read everythin' on that list when you get there, Link. Y'wouldn't wanna forget anything."

"Very funny, Angie, I can read my own writing," he replied, keeping his grip on Epona's reins loose while she said her goodbyes—or at least what Link called her goodbyes; whether or not a parting nip to Paul's shoulder and the man's reply of "Cow!" constituted a goodbye was debatable.

"Barely," Angie scoffed, her blue eyes glittering playfully.

"Maybe you're just a bad teacher," he told her in all mock seriousness. "Keep those cuccos of yours in line while I'm gone, I wouldn't want to have to go collecting them when I get back."

"I'll keep an eye on 'er, Link," Paul promised with a wicked grin, rubbing his shoulder where Epona had bitten him.

"Good, we both know she's helpless without us," Link replied, giving Epona's reins a gentle tug to let the mare know he was ready to head out.

Angie crossed her arms over her chest and grinned. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that this once, green boy. You just stay outta trouble in Castle Town. I know how all the ladies swoon for you, you be careful where you put your hands."

Link's grin faded. "Goodbye," he called back to them both before turning in the saddle to watch the road ahead as Epona started out of Kakariko. Now and then someone would wave to him, and he would return a distracted wave of his own. Angie hadn't meant to bring up bad memories. Sometimes she did it on purpose, like today at the midday meal, but always seriously, trying to help. She would never intentionally remind him with a tease of his awkward relationship with Zelda. _She's never far from my mind. It isn't Angie's fault the only woman I've ever wanted to put my hands on is my cousin._ He shuddered the thought away.

Epona turned her head and rolled a sapphire eye back to look at Link sympathetically, displaying her rare empathic intelligence. He gave her a weak smile and patted the side of her neck before urging her down the steep path from Kakariko to Hyrule Field.

**xx**

It was never safe to stop. Strike had more shadows chasing him than just the guards that the angry man with the fat purse had screamed for; panic was dark in his mind, urging him to _run_, keep going, never stop, faster. But his foot caught a loose pavement stone and he was instantly on the ground, bleeding from several scrapes and throbbing in more places than he could name. He scrambled up and searched the alley frantically with his eyes as he pushed his back up against a damp wall; the Otherworld crept through the long, black shadows cast by buildings outlined with the demonic glow of the setting sun, but there were no guards, no nosy citizens peering at him with dangerous curiosity in their eyes.

He let himself breathe. The air came in blasts of glass shredding his throat and chest, burning, burning like a dozen cuts, the new brand, and the cramping of his empty stomach. This pain, he'd learned, wouldn't go away tomorrow. It healed slowly. It made him weak. But it was better, much better, this way.

He needed food. He needed it now, before he was too weak to steal it, and he needed salve for his brand before the infection in it killed him.

The Otherworld reared out of the darkness, and he flinched away, dragging himself along the alley wall into a small patch of sunlight created by the gap between the second stories of two buildings across the alley. The Otherworld dwelt in shadows and the night. It pulsed in the dark corners of his mind, held back by a thin veil of a barrier. At night, there was nothing else. There was no sleep or dreams. At night the Otherworld came alive. It was dangerous to go out at night.

His stomach convulsed, and he threw his arms over it, gritting his teeth and throwing his head back with a dull thud against the alley wall. He hadn't eaten in nearly four days. Tomorrow might be too late. He had to go out tonight.

His legs nearly buckled when he pushed himself up with his back against the alley wall, and for a moment his heel caught on the hem of his cloak and he fought violent panic as the cloak pulled tightly against his neck, choking him. Flashes of the Otherworld flew across the black of his eyelids—spikes, iron rods, the cat's paw—

He released his cloak and took a dizzy step forward, nearly falling flat on his face again before he steadied himself. After a few frantic breaths, the alley swam into focus; the Otherworld was bolder as it crept through the shadows, but it stayed in the shadows and he stood safely in the light. He kept to the remnants of daylight as best he could as he slipped through the alley toward market square; occasionally a tentacle of shadow and agony would twine around his ankles, his waist, his heart when he moved through a shadow for too long, but he shook it off, keeping in motion.

When he reached the market, he took a cautious look around before crossing to the fountain at its center. A few merchants were behind and were still packing up their wares, but most of the daytime traders had gone home an hour ago. The night market would be thin as always; only a handful of merchants sold to the shady night crowd, and half of those were more devious than their customers. They had a sharper eye and firmer hand for thieves; being caught by the city guard and branded, as Strike had been twice, was preferable to being caught by one of the night merchants.

The fountain spray misted against his back, cool in the waning summer day's heat. His small wounds throbbed, but worst of them was the 'x' newly branded on the inside of his left wrist. He looked down at the brands, running a thumb over the older one; they matched perfectly in size and shape, but the old one was a shiny white against his brown skin where the new one bore yellowish patches of infection. He scooped a handful of water out of the fountain and trickled it over the infected brand, ignoring the far away throb of pain.

He felt calmer, though the Otherworld pulsed both around and inside him and the sun was but a sliver of raging color on a horizon he could hardly see through the gaps between buildings and the Temple. He dragged his still-wet hand down his face and then wiped it on his pants to dry it, focusing on the stalls around the square market street. On one he recognized the sign of an apothecary and on another the sign for weapons and armor; another carried many different items, most of them stolen; and the moment he recognized the sign for magic on another, he ripped his eyes from it with a stabbing pain in his abdomen.

The apothecary, he reminded himself. It would have healing salves. He would see to his brand first. He moved away from the fountain, slipping through the thin night crowd toward the stand with the apothecary's sign and vials, bottles, and jars lined up on its countertop. Behind it stood its merchant owner, a short but broadly muscled man with wiry dark hair and eyes that darted about alertly.

A skull drew Strike's attention in and wouldn't let go. Poison. The sort of thing you couldn't find sold by daylight. It was a slim black bottle with a skull carved into it, a silvery stopper corking up the liquid inside, and it whispered insidious promises in the darkness. The Otherworld crept nearer, waiting for something, waiting to pounce. Dimly, from far away, he heard screams, the grate of metal on metal, the sizzle and pop of heated flesh. Phantom pains thrilled over his skin and reached in deep as his hand reached out.

He felt the hand around his forearm before his ears registered the enraged yell and his own strangled cry. "Thief!" the potions merchant screeched as he twisted Strike's arm nearly to the breaking point. The old white brand shone against the backdrop of darker skin, marking him a thief once before. The new brand on his other hand was twice, but the merchant didn't bother looking. He pulled a dagger from a sheath hung on his belt, raising it over Strike's wrist. "I'll teach you to steal from me!" Strike struggled to get away, but the man's grip was tight and struggling only hurt more. He fell to his knees, closing his eyes against flashes of heat, deafening sound, pain in his joints, in his mouth, throughout his insides, the ripping stretch of muscles, but the Otherworld just pressed in, and the knife was coming down—

And then he was being yanked up by the collar and forcibly dragged away so that he had to walk before his cloak around his neck choked him to death. He caught glimpses of leather boots, a belt from which a sword hung, the cobblestone street, and light-colored pants under a green tunic. When his captor stopped, Strike lost his balance and nearly fell, but the stranger grabbed him by the forearm to steady him. The moment he caught his balance, he yanked his arm away, glaring up at the stranger's face distrustfully.

He was tall, much taller than Strike, and it was clear that he had muscle. He probably knew how to use that sword of his, too. If it came to a fight, he could crush Strike like a bug in close combat. But Strike was quick, and his smaller size was an advantage in speed. Less for the stranger to grab onto. A giant like this man couldn't possibly keep up with Strike. He'd just have to be quick and alert.

"You should be more careful," the stranger told him. "What did you do to make that man so angry?"

_He knows what I was doing. It's in his voice._ He didn't say anything; his eyes alighted on the man's purse. It looked heavy.

"That's mine," the man said sternly, grabbing Strike's infected wrist when it twitched. The pain in the brand flared at the warm touch; he flinched and tried to pull his hand away, but the man in green held it firmly. He pulled Strike's arm up, grabbing his forearm with his free hand and releasing his wrist, pulling the fingers of his hand back instead to get a good look at the brand on his inner wrist. "This is infected. It's new." His eyes moved to Strike's face and he grinned dryly. "Already thieving again? Don't learn very quickly, do you?"

"Let me go," Strike growled, pulling his arm from the stranger's grasp. "What d'you want?"

"I'm Link," the man said, ignoring Strike's question. He reached into a pouch hanging from his belt and pulled out a small bottle of red liquid, uncorking it quickly. Before Strike could react, Link had his wrist again and was tipping the bottle over his brand; his abdomen convulsed and he pulled away, but not without a few drops of the potion landing on his brand. He felt a warm tingling and the infection faded away, though he hadn't gotten enough of the potion to heal his brand entirely. "Keep that clean," Link advised, corking the bottle of healing potion and replacing it in one of his belt pouches.

"You gonna turn me in to the city guard?" Strike asked suspiciously, flexing the fingers on his newly healed wrist into a fist and then relaxing them. The brand still hurt, but not quite as badly.

"Yes," Link replied. He answered directly and didn't try to hide his motive; Strike appreciated that, but he took a step back from Link, ready to run. "A prison cell would be shelter, and you would have food. That has to be better than what you have now."

Stupid fool. Ignorant, naïve fool. "You think they'll jus' throw me in a cell and bring me food a couple times a day? You shouldn't've bothered with me, they'll take my hand anyway, at least if Butch back there'd done it I'd've bled to death!"

Link shook his head and opened his mouth to say something, but Strike didn't want to talk anymore. Every moment spent here brought him closer to hell. He needed to get away. He unsheathed a dagger in one hand and lurched forward for Link's purse with the other; strings cut, purse in hand, he turned to run, felt the pressure of Link's hand grabbing his shoulder, but he got only cloth and Strike's loosened cloak pulled free. He bolted down the alley. Behind him, Link was yelling, but he couldn't hear the words.

**xx**

Impa still tried to get Zelda into bed at sunset, but she never listened. When she was younger, she had to listen to Impa, and her duties had been far less than they were now. She had had time to go walking in gardens and courtyards during the day. Not anymore. She didn't mind so much, though, after discovering the unique beauty of the palace gardens at night. The gardens near her suite were a wonderful place to wind down after a trying day before bathing and going to sleep. The gardeners had planted the garden with plants and fragrances that attracted fairies, and the fairy light cast over sleeping plants gave the whole place a comforting glow.

It was getting late. She needed to get to bed, but she didn't want to. Up until a few weeks ago, she had only strolled in the garden for a few minutes to unwind at the end of every day; then the nightmares had changed. When she woke, they hurt her heart. She didn't want to face that again tonight.

"I thought I might find you here." She tensed at the voice and spun to face Link. She hadn't seen him in months, and she wasn't sure what to say, what to think, even what to feel about him suddenly appearing in her garden. He looked perfect against the backdrop of night greenery and fairy light; her chest felt tight watching him.

"How are you?" The words slipped from her mouth, a mindless pleasantry, and she immediately gritted her teeth. _Idiot._

Link ignored her. She felt a small flare of temper, but she was grateful. "Impa's roof is leaking. I came for supplies to fix it… and to see everyone again. I've been away a long time."

"I know you have." Her tone had more heat in it than she intended. She knew why Link avoided the palace. He was avoiding _her_. She understood it, but it hurt. Taking a breath to calm herself, she added softly, "I'm glad you're back."

He gave her a small smile, meeting her eyes for a moment and then looking around the garden to avoid her gaze. Her abdomen twinged. He always had to avoid her… She felt as if something was wrong with her, even though she knew that wasn't true.

"You're staying out in the garden awfully late," Link observed, looking back at her. This wasn't small-talk, she noted; if it was, he would still be letting his gaze wander. She nodded slowly. "You're avoiding the nightmares, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"Yours have changed, too," she said.

For a moment he didn't reply. He walked up beside her; she turned, and they started slowly down the garden path, side by side. "They're worse," he agreed. "But I don't know why."

Zelda cast her gaze down to the path, remembering the horrible feeling of waking from the nightmares these last few weeks. Terrified, hopeless, and, above all, heartbroken. Link was always foremost in her mind, and the thought of him made her heart twist as if it was breaking, her lungs feel heavy with grief. If she felt this way without knowing what the nightmares were, she never wanted to remember them. But it was so _frustrating_ to wake this way every night, the panic only quelled by the lullaby that played through her mind, and not to understand _why_. "I don't understand it any better than you do," she murmured.

He stopped, turning her to face him and lifting her face with a finger under her chin. A rough thumb brushed across her cheek; she raised her hand to her other cheek and felt the wet there. "Sorry," she said quietly, brushing the tears away. He just shook his head at the apology, but before he could say anything, they both noticed the fairy glow growing around them. Zelda looked to either side to find the garden fairies hovering around her, circling her in much the way she remembered Link's fairy circling him seven years ago.

"They think you're in pain," Link said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "They're trying to heal you."

She grinned, her eyes following the small orbs of light, but a part of her whispered, _I am in pain. They sense it._ She looked back to Link's face, and saw there that he knew what she was feeling.

He leaned in hesitantly, brushing her lips with his own, but the kiss only lasted a moment before he pulled away. Zelda looked before she could stop herself and saw the pained expression on his face. She put a hand against his cheek, bowing her head. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Why do we have to be cousins?" she asked, her voice strained. _Why does it have to matter?_

"I don't know." He looked away, avoiding her gaze again.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, watching him for a moment—the way the fairy light glinted off of his golden hair, hair just like her own, and the way the blue eyes identical to hers glistened with moisture.

"I should get to sleep," she murmured finally. He turned back to look at her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "I'm glad you're back."

"Good night," he said.

"Good night. I love you." She kissed him on the cheek and then drew her arms from around him, turning away. She started to leave the garden but turned back at the doorway for one last look at Link. He smiled a goodbye, the fairies dancing around him.

* * *

**author's note**

That's all I have written currently. I wrote a third chapter, but it needs heavy revising or rewriting, so it doesn't really count. Anyway, if you'd like to see where this story goes, please review. Otherwise I'll try to spend time working on projects I might stand a chance at getting published.


	3. Two : Twins

**Two : Twins**

Watching Link, Kale couldn't help but notice how _rusty_ he had gotten. "You haven't been training properly," he said with a grin. He knelt to put pressure on Link's lower back while his friend stretched. A year ago, Link could stretch his legs apart to form a straight line with his torso, just the same as any of the other three receiving Sheikah training from Impa, and then he could lean forward until his nose was in the dirt. Now, while he could still stretch farther than any typical knight, Link's flexibility had declined noticeably—and his muscles had grown bulkier.

"I've been repairing houses in Kakariko," Link replied, his voice slightly strained and muffled by the stretch. "I get up early to work, but sometimes I still train in the evening." He inhaled deeply as Kale released the pressure on his back, sitting up straight. "That's why I came back—Impa's roof needs some repairs."

"Well, it's good to see you back," Kale said. He missed Link when he was away; four months was a long time to be apart from one of his two closest friends. He spent time with Zelda everyday, and he wouldn't trade it, but it just wasn't the same as time spent with Link. "I'm glad you found time for training in your busy schedule," he added teasingly.

"You're joking," Link laughed. "I wouldn't miss training for anything, not when I'm here anyway." He looked past Kale and climbed to his feet; glancing over his shoulder, Kale saw Impa crossing to them. Her face was impassive, as always, but he knew she was pleased to see Link back. Kale knew his adoptive mother as well as he knew the palace; there were probably a few hidden passages he didn't know about, but he could walk most of the palace's halls in his sleep.

"I thought you might be back," Impa greeted Link, nodding both to the green knight and to Kale.

Link didn't ask how she had known, but he probably could have hazarded a guess just as accurately as Kale could: Zelda's reaction. Of course he would have gone to see the princess first. His visits always took a toll on both of them, but Link wasn't as likely to show it as Zelda was; even if she didn't say anything, anyone who ran into her after her first reunion with Link could tell that he was back.

"Angie convinced me to come," Link admitted dryly. "Your roof is leaking, and the carpenters' supplies have run thin. I came to get supplies and let you know… and to say hello to everyone."

"I'll pay for everything," Impa told him with a nod.

"I'm afraid you have to this time," Link replied ruefully. "I… misplaced my purse."

Even Impa raised an eyebrow at that, so Kale could imagine what his expression must have been. Without a doubt Link was less than miserly with his rupees, but he wasn't the sort to lose a purse of them, particularly when he was intending to spend them on something he'd promised someone else. Impa didn't question him, though; she just nodded and repeated, "I'll pay for everything." With a glance around, she added, "When Sheik gets here, we will start training."

No need to wait for Zelda. With Link here, she wasn't likely to show up for training. Kale hated it. The way they avoided each other made him feel like he had to choose between friends, and with Link away so often, he couldn't afford not to choose spending time with him. Even if he could--he loved Zelda, but she got so neurotic when Link was around, where Link was his normal self around Kale.

It didn't help to dwell on it, though. He shook his head and turned his thoughts to more important matters: "You _misplaced_ your purse, Link?" He raised his eyebrows, suspicious.

Link sighed and explained, "A thief snatched it on my way through town yesterday night."

He'd been robbed by a thief. Hearing that from anyone else, Kale imagined he would feel outraged for them. From Link, though—"You really _have_ been getting rusty, haven't you?"

Link faked an almost believable indignant expression and shook his head, laughing quietly. "I could have caught him. He was starving, though, and I'd only just managed to keep him from losing a hand."

"How's that?"

"He'd angered one of those night traders," Link replied, and Kale nodded. Night traders were an unpleasant lot; he would feel better if they were kept off the streets at night, but as long as they kept to the law the city guard left them alone. "Anyway, I figured it was better if he stole from me than someone else… I have more rupees in Kakariko, and it's not as if I need that much. I can always earn more."

Kale shook his head at his old friend. Link had a soft heart—often too soft. "So you just let him steal from you. How's he supposed to learn anything from that?"

"I had enough for him to rent a room for a month or two if he wanted," Link said with a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "Maybe he'll find himself a job and get off the streets."

"Not bloody likely," Kale snorted. "He'll probably gamble it."

Link didn't get a chance to reply; Impa's sharp clap brought her Sheikah trainees to attention, as well as a few knights training in the yard. The knights returned to their own exercises in short order, but Kale and Link joined Sheik in front of Impa. For a moment, Kale imagined that Sheik had looked over at him, but when he glanced over, Sheik's attention was focused on Impa. _I remember when I had three friends,_ he thought to himself with a silent sigh. _Now I only have two, and those only one at a time._

**xx**

The green man—Link—his purse had been heavy with rupees. Strike couldn't believe his good fortune, and that made him wary. Nothing good came without a price.

At least he managed to get warm food in his belly before the price announced itself. He'd bandaged his brand and put ointment on his small wounds, too, but that wasn't going to matter much in a few minutes.

"Why don' ya just hand that over now an' we won't hafta take it from ya by force?" the skinny one suggested with a leering grin. His teeth were rotten and stained brown. His big friend, on the other hand, had abnormally white, straight teeth and a faraway look to him that Strike wasn't altogether sure he didn't share himself. The skinny one was lanky, bony; his friend was shorter, but heavily muscled for a street urchin. He could knock Strike out with a single well-placed swing.

He might be quicker than them, but he wasn't sure he wanted to count on it. There were two of them, after all, and you had to be quick to last on the streets. He sized them up and checked the alley for ways he could dash off.

"What, you don' talk? You stupid or somethin'?" When Strike still didn't reply, the skinny boy nodded to his companion and said, "Get 'im."

As the bigger boy lurched forward, Strike turned to run, but one of them caught him by his cloak and hurled him against the wall. He landed heavily, the air pushed from his lungs, but spun around and lunged away from both the wall and the street urchins without wasting time on collecting his wits. The twig-thin one had pulled a knife; the big meaty one was still advancing on him with a hungry grin.

"What'samatter?" Twig asked. "Purse that big ain't yours t'begin with. Jus' give it here an' we won' break yer pretty face."

Strike tore his cloak off—it had gotten him into enough trouble in the last day—and snapped it at Twig's face, hoping to catch an eye. He was lucky enough that the blow stung the skinny thief; he stopped, putting a hand over his cheek, and swore at Strike violently.

He barely sensed the motion in time to move, and then he didn't move quick enough. Meatboy's punch glanced against his head, sending him lurching to the side and blinking away stars. He dropped the cloak, stumbling away from the angry urchins advancing on him. He pulled out a dagger—his only dagger, but it was at least a sturdy one in good shape—and focused on his two opponents as his vision cleared. He felt nausea creeping its way into his stomach, the Otherworld pulsing against the back of his mind. _It's daytime! I'm safe! Go away!_

Meatboy came at him swinging, and he lashed out with his dagger; the big street thief caught his arm, twisting it until he heard a crack. He cried out at the sharp pain… the dagger slipped in his fingers, but he forced himself to hold onto it. He needed it. More than he needed the purse. There were other things to steal.

With his free hand, he ripped the purse clumsily from his belt and dropped it. Meatboy's grip on his arm twisted further, and he bit back a scream, kicking out with all his might for the bigger boy's groin. Meatboy let go of his arm instantly, falling to his knees, and Strike turned to run—but found himself facing Twig, the skinny boy's cheek enflamed just below his eye. "Where you going, eh?" he demanded, slashing at Strike with his knife. Strike leapt back.

"I gave you the purse! Lemme go!" He turned; Meatboy was beginning to recover, but he had time. He sprinted wide around the kneeling street urchin, cradling his wounded arm against his chest and taking his dagger in his left hand. He ran as fast as he could, ducking into dark alleyways and gaps between houses hardly wider than he was.

When he stopped, collapsing on a warped wooden crate, nausea threatened to make him heave up the meal in his belly and the Otherworld ran like ice through his veins. _No,_ he thought firmly, biting the inside of his lip until he drew blood as he cradled his broken arm in his lap. _No. Go away._

And for a time, the Otherworld retreated.

**xx**

Zelda started to lean over to ask Impa where Link was, but she stopped when she realized that she knew full well Impa would have as little idea where he was as she did; ever since her morning training session ended, Impa had been at Zelda's side.

Fortunately or unfortunately for her—she wasn't sure which—Impa could read her like a book. From the corner of her mouth, so that only Zelda could hear, she murmured, "It doesn't matter, Princess. Link shouldn't affect palace affairs."

She felt like banging her head back against the throne a few times, but she restrained herself and nodded graciously to Captain Lorne, who didn't look at all disturbed by the almost silent exchange between Zelda and the Sheikah woman. He spoke formally to Zelda, as befit her rank of princess of Hyrule, but he knew her well enough to understand her relationship with Impa. "Of course, Captain, I shall accompany you right now."

"Thank you, Princess, and I of course will wait if you have other affairs you wish to attend to at the moment," Lorne said with a respectful bow.

_Yes_, Zelda thought, and then derided herself mentally. _I can't just avoid Link all day, and he may not even be there!_ "No, I have finished with the morning affairs, and the midday meal is not for some time yet." _You don't need to explain yourself,_ her inner voice hissed. _You know how to be a princess, stop tripping over your feelings!_ "If you will wait in the outer chamber, I will be out shortly." To the soldiers flanking the entrance, she added, "You are dismissed, as well."

Lorne bowed again and left the room with a mumbled courtesy or two; once he and the guards had gone, Zelda stood and stretched her legs and back, which were quite sore after the morning spent on the throne. She told herself firmly that she wasn't avoiding Impa's gaze; she was inspecting the throne room. Were the ferns framing the entrance beginning to wilt? The servants really ought to water them…

"Princess, there are other things for Link to do at the palace than stay in the training yards all day. He probably isn't there," Impa said. Her voice was emotionless; Zelda wished she could tell what the woman was feeling—sometimes she still wondered if Impa felt anything at all. Then again, maybe she didn't want to know. She imagined that whatever Impa was thinking certainly wouldn't make her feel _better_ about her situation with Link. And Impa could be wrong; Zelda knew Link, and she knew Kale. Both were warriors through and through, and she fully expected they could spend the majority of a day at the training grounds and be completely content.

Then again, they might also be found in the stables with their well-loved horses, or they might have taken an early lunch. _I really shouldn't assume the worst._ She felt a twinge in her stomach; when had she become this way? Accidentally running into Link wasn't the worst thing that could happen. She hated avoiding Link, and yet she hated the confusion being around him caused. She hated the look on his face. She missed the simpler days of their youth, when a stupid dream she'd taken too seriously had brought them together and they had become inseparable. Once, they had been a quartet—her, Link, Kale, and Sheik. But she and Link had grown too close, and her father broke the news that they were cousins… and so they had drifted apart, because being close was too hard. And Sheik had drifted away from Kale, and then from the rest of them. Even she and Kale weren't always close anymore; when Link was around, she avoided Kale by avoiding Link, and where part of her wished he wouldn't spend all his time with Link when he was at the palace… she understood. Zelda was always around. Link he only saw every few months.

"I know," she sighed finally. "I don't usually react this badly, Impa, but…" She gritted her teeth for a moment and exhaled loudly, frustrated. "There's something different, and I don't like it."

Impa didn't respond, which Zelda supposed wasn't surprising, though she would have liked Impa to have an answer for her. She put her fingertips to her forehead, staring toward the throne room's grand entrance, and for a moment just stood, mind blank. _I shouldn't keep Lorne waiting…_ With a sigh, she blinked and focused on the matters at hand. "Let's go," she murmured to Impa. She heard the Sheikah's footsteps following hers as she moved out of the room, both quiet out of habit—though Zelda could never hope to rival Impa's stealth, not without the proper amount of time to devote to Sheikah training. She was a princess. She had other things to see to.

Like Lorne's knights.

Impa passed around her to open the doors for her; it wasn't befitting for a princess to open doors for herself. Zelda composed her expression out of habit, adopting an almost emotionless mask, but with the merest quirk of a smile at her lips. To forestall any bowing, she announced quietly, "Let's skip the formalities, please." The occupants of the waiting room—Lorne, four guards, Danee, and a servant—weren't surprised by the request; Zelda wasn't one for formalities when she could avoid them, and most of the palace staff was used to limited informality in her presence. "Lead the way, Captain," she told Lorne with a nod.

Zelda and Impa followed the captain to the training yard, where a small group of men were training, two of whom were potential replacements for Lorne's retiring sub-commander… and then there were Link and Kale. Zelda sighed inwardly and focused her attention on Lorne's men. She listened as he introduced them—they were men she had met before, but the formality was best observed—and related their honors and qualifications, but she knew she was distracted. Her eyes kept sliding between Lorne, his men, and her friends. _I trust your judgment, Lorne, why do I always have to be consulted?_ She sighed inwardly, but continued nodding as Lorne went on with his explanation.

"Which do you approve of?" Lorne asked finally.

She barely kept herself from beginning with 'um…' as she replied, "Both seem very qualified, Captain." She nodded to Canos and Jon, giving them each a small smile. "This is more your area than mine, however; who would you choose?"

He was obviously prepared; his answer was prompt and didn't seem to surprise Canos or Jon: "Lieutenant Canos, if it please you."

Zelda turned to Canos, smiled, and said, "If you want the position, Lieutenant, it is yours."

Bowing deeply, Canos replied, "Thank you, Princess."

"And best of luck to you in your next venture, Lieutenant," she added with a nod toward Jon.

He bowed, as well, echoing Canos' "Thank you, Princess."

She dismissed the three of them; Lorne and Canos left the training yard, presumably to go get Canos settled into his new position, but Jon returned to his training. If he was disappointed, he didn't show it.

"Princess."

There was something about Impa's tone that made Zelda turn to face her immediately, brow furrowed. "What?"

For a moment, Impa didn't reply. It was hesitation, and it startled Zelda; Impa was certainly not one to hesitate. "You and Link need to come with me… right now." She turned toward Link and Kale, who likely had had half their attention on Impa and Zelda to begin with, and motioned sharply for them to come to her. When they approached, she said quietly, "Kale, you need to go take your lunch. Doubtless you will hear of this later, but right now it has to be private." Zelda knew Kale was curious and concerned—she was herself, her gut in a knot—but he didn't make any move to protest. He nodded to Link and Zelda, his expression wishing them luck, and then left.

"Follow me," Impa commanded.

**xx**

Link had known something bad was going to happen when he heard the tone in Impa's voice as she ordered him and Zelda to follow her. He had known when they arrived at the king's quarters; he had met King Harkinian before, but the only time he had been brought to his quarters in this sort of solemn atmosphere, he had learned that he and Zelda were cousins. That Impa was bringing them to the king's quarters unannounced in his illness boded even worse than before… and Link had trouble imagining anything worse he could tell them.

The solemn, heartsick expression on the king's face when Impa brought them to his bedside, though, compounded Link's feeling of dread. "I… had hoped this"—he gave a wheezing cough, but then continued breathlessly—"this moment… would never come."

"I will tell it, Your Highness, if you need me to," Impa said softly. Softness in her voice was foreign. The unfamiliarity of it made Link cringe inwardly. He looked over at Zelda; she looked as frightened and anxious as he felt. King Harkinian nodded to Impa, and Link focused on her as she turned to him and Zelda. "You aren't…" She seemed to rethink her line of thought, and after a moment started over. "Zelda, your mother gave birth to twins. Your father understood what twins could do to succession of the throne… even when one is a girl, the other a boy." Beside her, King Harkinian nodded wearily. The feeling of foreboding doubled in the pit of Link's stomach. He wanted to look over at Zelda, but he couldn't.

"His Highness—Raul—had a brother whose wife was barren. He thought that one of the twins might be raised by his brother, and Maurina agreed, but they argued over which twin they ought to ask your uncle Job to raise. Your father wanted to give up the daughter. Your mother said that the daughter was born first, and so was the rightful heir; the son ought to go to Job.

"Maurina decided to take the son to Job without your father knowing. Darren was the only one she told; he was the one who would guard her on the journey."

"Impa's life mate," King Harkinian said quietly. His expression looked remorseful.

Link felt he could hardly breathe as Impa continued. _I know the rest of this story,_ he thought, but he didn't want to believe it. He wanted to cover his ears with his hands. Most of all he wanted to shield Zelda from it, because somehow he _knew_ it would hurt her worst of all. "When she reached Lon Lon Ranch, Job wasn't there. He had gone out with a caravan toward Lake Hylia. Maurina and Darren went after them… but shortly after they met up with Job, the caravan was attacked by a raiding group of rebels. They injured Maurina gravely, but she managed to ride away with her son, toward the Lost Woods.

"There were only three survivors: Talon, his infant daughter, and Link."

Link could only look over at Zelda. He couldn't quite feel his insides, though he dimly sensed that they were tight, as if they were being crushed; seeing Zelda rocking back and forth, shaking and biting her lip, made his awareness of his body suddenly come rushing back. He squatted and pressed his torso against his legs, staring at the floor. He stayed that way for some time without drawing a breath, his eyes unfocused. _Twins. Twins._ It echoed in his mind, in the background even when he was thinking other frantic thoughts. _How? Why is it so much worse than cousins? I can't… I can't breathe…_ It was a strange feeling—pain, but not the same kind he might have expected before. And anger, too, because why hadn't the king just told them this in the first place?

When he finally stood up, Zelda had gone. King Harkinian—his father—was watching him with that same heartsick expression on his face. Impa wore it, as well… He wished the rare display of emotion could have been a happier one.

"I am sorry," King Harkinian said quietly.

Link stood and crossed to the king's bedside, watching him bleakly. _Father… I never asked for a father._ Part of him wanted to reach out and touch the old man, hug him, but it was a very small part. _I never would, not at this price._

He turned and strode from the room.

* * *

**author's note**

I thought about scrapping and completely rewriting this chapter, but I settled for revisions. I know the twins thing is a ... different take, but it's been with this story since the first time I started writing it, and I won't change it now. It was born from the sheer similarity in Link and Zelda's appearances; you can't deny that they could be twins. Anyway, next chapter will reveal the main threat of the story. Please review! Feedback is welcome.


	4. Three : Fracture

**Three : Fracture**

Kale had expected Link to be longer, but when he went to the stables after his meal he could tell by Coda's excitement that Link and Epona were already out riding. The horse didn't even bother with his usual games; he let Kale saddle him without taking in a bellyful of air, and he allowed himself to be led from his stall without insisting on an apple or carrot.

But when Kale led Coda out toward the pasture, Link was nowhere to be seen. He frowned and put a foot in his stirrup, heaving himself up into the saddle. "Go find her," he told Coda, giving him the lead.

The horse took off for the forest behind the castle at an easy gallop. Kale couldn't remember Link riding the forest before; he didn't do it very often himself. As they approached the treeline, he caught sight of Link through the eastern trees, pushing Epona through the forest at a breakneck pace.

His face was hard. Something was wrong.

Kale tightened the reins, and Coda slowed beneath him. "Ho, Link!" he called, but Link didn't even glance his way.

The distance between them was closing. Kale guided Coda into a parallel gallop, just as fast as Epona but on the open ground outside the forest. "Link!" he called, and when that didn't work: "Epona's going to break a leg in there!" The wind whipped his hair around his face. He watched the gradual change of expression on Link's face; the hard mask fell, and it was like a boulder suddenly weighed him down. He turned Epona out of the trees.

Kale kept Coda parallel. Together, they slowed their horses gradually until they came to a stop at the fence enclosing the pasture. Epona's sides were beginning to lather, but she looked thrilled. She tossed her head and snorted; Link patted her neck and slid down from her back. He looked exhausted.

Kale looped Coda's reins around his saddlehorn until they were loose, but not loose enough to snag a passing branch. "Go on," he told the horse. "Go run for a while." He stepped up beside Epona and arranged her reins the same way. She ignored him entirely, instead nipping at Coda's neck and whinnying.

Once the horses started off to run the grounds, Kale turned back to Link. He was sitting in the grass with his back against the fence and his face in his hands, fingers through his hair. Kale squatted next to him, watching for a moment. He didn't look up, didn't move. His face was blank. Kale sat in the grass beside him; he didn't break the silence. He just watched Epona and Coda at play, waiting.

The sun traveled through the sky. A warm summer breeze played around them and dried the sweat at Link's temples. Epona and Coda trampled brilliantly purple wildflowers, overgrown grass, and muddy patches indiscriminately.

And Link spoke. "She took us to see the king."

Kale turned to watch Link, but he didn't speak. He didn't know what could bring them before the king in his illness, but he didn't need to see Link's melancholy to know it had to be bad.

"We've been once before. Back when we were thirteen. You remember?" He didn't look over, but Kale nodded anyway. It was when Link and Zelda had grown apart so suddenly. "They wanted to stop us from getting close, from... falling in love." His expression twisted bitter.

"A little too late," Kale said, his voice low. He'd always sensed the intense bond between them, and he'd always wondered why they kept so distant. He never asked, though.

"Yeah." Link's voice was hot with anger, but there was a steely, icy core underneath.

"Why would they keep you apart?" Kale asked.

"When we were thirteen, they told us we were cousins," he said, his voice hotter. His hands fisted around his hair. He didn't leave Kale time to feel surprise. "We asked why that mattered when ordinary people marry cousins all the time. And they said it's different for royalty. Zelda can't marry just anyone." He paused, but not long enough for Kale to wrap his thoughts around what he was saying. "But today... they decided to tell us the truth."

Kale exhaled, his eyes fixed on Link, though Link stared at the ground between his feet. "You aren't cousins?" he asked, hesitant--because if they weren't, then what could cause this reaction in him?

"Twins," Link said, and the word was strangely empty of anger.

For a moment, the word didn't register. It was an abstract. There was the concept of twins... and then there were Link and Zelda. He struggled to put the two realities together. Zelda was an only child, her mother long dead. And... how could they lose the twin of the princess? Surely it was--but it couldn't be a cruel joke. Impa would not take part in such a thing. But how could the son of the king have been lost for ten years in the woods, and why wasn't he welcomed back with fanfare?

And yet... when he matched Link and Zelda's faces up in his mind, he could see the perfect fit. They'd always been so alike, even down to their expressions. Easy enough when they were two variations on the same face--brother and sister, so similar in appearance, but Link hard and masculine where Zelda was softer and very female.

"Why?" Link asked. The heat was back in his voice, but it veered dangerously close to breaking. "Why not tell us from the beginning? Why tell us now if they didn't want to then?" He finally looked up and met Kale's eyes. "Why us?"

He wanted--he needed answers, and Kale didn't know what to say. It was too fresh. He didn't understand his own questions, much less answers for Link. _Why didn't you tell me before?_ he wanted to ask, but he kept it to himself. Link looked away, staring back at the ground. Kale let his own eyes drop to the grass so he could think.

Why didn't Impa tell them from the beginning? The king trusted her counsel, so he doubted it was by his command. Being cousins--that wasn't as harsh, but it opened them up to hope. Marrying a cousin was not that uncommon, and no one had even known they were related, not even Kale. Eventually it would have entered their minds that no one knew they were cousins, so what harm was there in Zelda marrying Hyrule's beloved green knight?

What reason could Impa have for allowing that risk, that hope?

Maybe... Kale worried the knife sheathed in his boot, staring past it into thought. Twins were dangerous in royal families. Link and Zelda were both so well loved, even then--perhaps Impa feared what could happen to the kingdom if it was known that there were two heirs to the throne. It seemed ridiculous. Link wouldn't want to be prince. Kale didn't doubt that. And if she told them to keep it secret, no one would know.

Now. But maybe, when they'd been thirteen, Impa had worried about who they might tell, and who those people might tell.

It seemed farfetched. Zelda had always been wise for her years, and Link was more likely to close his problems away than share him with friends, much less strangers. But Impa had always prepared for any possibility. Still, why tell them now?

He frowned and shook his head, looking back up at Link. "You are both heirs to the throne. You have equal claim to it."

Emotion played across Link's face: the frown of confusion that flashed into something close to anger. He stared hard at Kale, his eyes flickering back and forth, and then he let out a long breath and his face fell again. "Zelda has all the training. She's the heir. I don't want it."

"I know. But others might want it for you," Kale said. He kept his voice low, though there was no one around. Words like these deserved every caution. "If the kingdom knew you are twins. They love you both, Link, but the people feel closer to you. Many wouldn't realize that it's because you haven't had to be royal that you could be so close to them. They might think you would make a better ruler."

"We wouldn't have told anyone!" Link said.

"You told me."

Link's face sobered as he thought about it. "We can trust you," he said. "And she didn't tell us not to tell anyone. We wouldn't have."

"You also aren't thirteen anymore," Kale said. He watched Link closely for a moment. He still seemed angry--betrayed--but he was thinking about the things Kale told him. He took it very seriously. "You know Impa plans for every possibility. She trusts your intentions. But thirteen-year-olds don't always have the best judgment. We didn't. You remember."

Link actually smiled, and even though it was brief, it was a hopeful sign. He was too easygoing to let even this bring him down for long. "I was always more trouble than you," he said.

"Still are," Kale pointed out.

"True." The brief hint of cheer disappeared abruptly, replaced by despair as deep as any Kale had ever seen on Link's face. His eyes were eerily blank; they dropped to the ground again, dragged down by the weight of the world. "How will I ever face Zelda again?"

Kale didn't know how to answer. He put a hand on the back of Link's neck and squeezed; it was the closest thing to comfort he could offer.

- **xx** -

If the day had been foreboding, then the evening was an open threat. Even at the sun's zenith, each shadow Strike passed through reached out with clinging, icy tendrils, trying to pull him under. But with the sun brushing the horizon and long shadows all around, Strike felt the violent beat of his heart trying to escape his ribs. His mouth was dry with terror. Every pulse sent pain splintering through his broken arm; his best attempt to splint it had been a poor one, and he wasn't sure if the pain was a good sign or bad.

He knelt on the edge of the fountain in market square, trying to hold onto the remains of daylight as tightly as he could. Every time his gaze stilled, the Otherworld shifted in his peripheral vision, reflected in the eyes of the few who stared when he jerked around to find it.

But it wasn't long before the shadows of the western shops threatened to overtake him, leaning toward him in the final slant of sunlight. Strike could wait no longer. As much as the darkness terrified him, he was more frightened of being caught in it out here in the open. He climbed off the fountain edge and skirted the shadow fingers of the Otherworld until he found a thin strip of light formed by the gap between two buildings. He ran down it until the light ended, took a deep breath, and then plunged into shadow.

His breath came ragged. Each seared like sand blown against raw skin. The Otherworld was more solid than before; he could hardly make sense of the alley around him for the flashes of burning desert, the skitter of rats in the dark, the scrape of keys in the lock, the hot red glow of branding metal...

He bit his lip to keep from screaming and felt his way forward because it seemed his sense of touch was more trustworthy than his eyes.

A turn, and he flinched as he felt something rough under his fingers, but softer than wood or cobblestone. Carpet--the refuse of a carpet shop. He burrowed between two rotting rolls. The scent of mold nearly calmed him. The enclosed feeling was almost safe. It helped ground the darkness.

The Otherworld was about wide open spaces. Vast, empty blackness and what could hide within it. The gnawing teeth of rats. The forge heating metal tools for searing flesh. The sharp snick of knives being sharpened. In the embrace of the old, rotting carpet, Strike could be an almost observer. The pain in his arm helped him keep himself separate, as well--it was a little more present than the wraith-pain of the Otherworld.

But it was still terrifying, because everything was clearer than ever. Faces were distinct. All of them women: wild red hair and rough, tanned skin. Different faces, but all with jewel-bright eyes and hard, bitter mouths. And two that made him flinch away and bite back a scream when he rolled over his broken arm.

Two squat, shriveled women with prominent noses and a green tinge to their skin. Small, malicious eyes. Jewels on their foreheads and hair wild with the elements: creeping, shattering ice and burning, lashing flame.

Their voices touched him even in the near-safety of the carpets' embrace. He squeezed his eyes shut, but they did not fade away.

A new scene formed.

He was on his back in the beating sun. Wind blew sand into a thousand burning cuts. Every bone was broken, but he still arched with the agony of the women's chanting voices.

A shadow fell across him. He looked; he could not help it. Screaming ripped its way out of his throat, his bones snapped together and mended as painfully as they'd broken, and the man standing over him smiled.

He was tall as a mountain, broad enough to block out the sun, and tanned over a sickly green tinge of skin. "It is ready, my lord," the women spoke; it was jarring hearing their voices aloud.

The man squatted over Strike, showed his teeth, and plunged a hand deep into his chest.

The scream that tore loose from him shattered both worlds. And suddenly he was kneeling in the refuse of carpet, his hands ripping across his chest for the phantom hand and the burning sensation coiled around his heart, his broken arm shrieking.

He lost track of who he was.

No. More important. Where he was. Screaming in an alley with the blush of dawn in the sky. He got up and ran.

- **xx** -

Zelda screamed--pain lanced through her--

She rolled from her bed, stumbled, clutching her side--blood pulsed through her fingers--

But the scream was for the intense, shattering sensation deep in her heart.

And the sudden awareness that she could remember.

And the crippling grief for the ignorance she'd lost.

"Princess!" Impa stumbled into the room, and for once her red eyes were wild with panic. She slid to Zelda's side, her hands hovering around the blood seeping through her gown there. "Who did--what--" She looked around, but of course there was no sign of an attacker.

"The Ocarina," Zelda whispered, voice rough and hoarse. She pulled her hands from her side; shards of the Ocarina came away in her fingers, blue stained red with her blood.

Impa's face blanched as white as the marks under her eyes. "Lay down, Princess," she said, guiding Zelda toward the bed with gentle hands on her shoulders. Zelda let the touch guide her down onto her side on the bed. Impa ripped her gown open down her side to free the wound and worked gently at pulling the band that had held the Ocarina free.

Zelda didn't flinch. There were worse pains than the raw open gouges on her side. "I remember," she said. There might as well be a fist around her heart, crushing the life out.

Impa's fingers didn't stop their work, but her breathing stuttered. "Remember what?"

Zelda shot a hard glance her way, but Impa didn't meet her eyes; her attention was fierce on the shattered Ocarina buried in Zelda's side. "Everything. I remember everything." She turned her eyes away, rolled her head back against her pillow. "What happens now?"

Impa was silent for a long while. Long enough for flashes of memory to stab at Zelda, a hundred knives aimed to wound rather than kill. They were so fresh, and yet at the same time... seven years old. Buried as they'd been, there had been no chance for them to heal, to scar over. They fought her other memories, her more recent memories. They found the hot new wound of her relationship to Link--joined there, multiplied with a thousand desperate memories of her green hero. Seven years of agony, worry, and love--and Impa, who never bothered to tell them that they couldn't be together until the very end, and never told them the truth of why until now.

Hot tears burned her eyes, traced their way down her cheeks. "I'm not sure, Princess," Impa said. The words were salt in the wounds, but she couldn't find the strength to rip herself away from Impa's careful fingers. The touch of her hands ached against Zelda's side, but now she needed that pain.

Blue light shone; she could see it from the corner of her eye. Behind Impa. She turned her head to look past the woman. "You bear the Triforce of Wisdom," a soft voice said. It came from a small orb of blue light hovering behind Impa--like a fairy, like Link's Navi, but blue and with a more human voice.

Zelda lifted her head from the pillow. Impa's fingers had stilled, and Zelda moved to sit up, but Impa's hand on her shoulder pressed her back down at the same time as the fairy said, "Stay. Let her dress your wound." The blue light flicked close, hovered over her wound, and seemed to dim almost imperceptibly. "We are sorry about that. We thought the magic of the Ocarina would survive this. It survived the hardest part."

Zelda remembered the tense, stretching feeling that had accompanied the Song of Time when she reset time yesterday-seven-years-ago. The way she'd feared its magic might snap. But it had survived. Until now. "What changed?" she asked--though why she spoke to this strange creature she wasn't sure.

"Hyrule's second history ended at dawn," the fairy said.

Impa's breath skipped again, but her hands were still steady at Zelda's side, pulling out miniscule shards of the Ocarina. "The magic rebounded," she said.

"Yes. After being stretched taut so long, the rebound shattered it."

A nervous swallowing sound brought Zelda's eyes to Impa's face. It was not like her to show any emotion, but especially not apprehension. "Is Ganon free?" she asked.

The fairy glowed brighter for an instant. "No. The magic of the Ocarina was not undone. That is not the problem."

Zelda felt suddenly like an old woman, weary deep in her bones. She rolled her head back against her pillow and closed her eyes. "What is the problem, then" she asked, her voice quiet. "And who--or what--are you?"

She felt Impa leave her side for a moment before the fairy answered. "The magic of the Ocarina was a vital piece of this realm--more than ever since it has been used to fold time over on itself." Zelda heard Impa kneel at her bedside again, and the woman's hands set about bandaging the wound in her side. "When it shattered, it very nearly rent this realm away from the rest. If this realm were to tear away, it would be a matter of hours before all the realms unraveled entirely.

"The goddesses threw out anchors to keep your realm bound to the others. I am one such anchor." The fairy paused for a breath. "In answer to your question, I am Nayrune. I am a small piece of Nayru, an anchor in your Living Realm."

Zelda let the words wash through her. "Can the goddesses not repair the tear?" she asked.

"Not without your help," Nayrune answered. "The shock of the tear in the Living Realm set the elemental wardens off balance. These wardens, these... temples... were built to protect the realms from gods. Only mortals may enter them, but they must be balanced for the Goddesses to repair the realms."

Zelda very nearly laughed, but she restrained herself. It seemed that the Goddesses could do very little for all their power. They had not intervened in the war with Ganondorf, and now that they chose to intervene, they needed mortal help? She shook her head, but kept her thoughts to herself. It did not matter. It appeared that they needed the Goddesses, as well, and antagonizing them would not be wise. "Very well," she said. "Where are these temples found?"

"We will show the way," Nayrune replied. "Two others like me have gone to the other Triforce Guardians. Once we are united, we will leave your Castle Town."

Ganondorf had held the Triforce of Power. "Who has the Triforce of Power now?" Zelda asked.

"The Triforce of Strength," Nayrune said--a correction. "It has returned to the one it belonged to all along. You will see soon enough."

And the Triforce of Courage--that piece went to Link. Zelda's stomach knotted. With their memories returned on top of everything else... what could she expect to find when they met with Link? Her insides continued to knot until her heart twisted up too. At the end, Link had begun to resent her, and he had been just a child then. What would those memories do to him as an adult? She feared the answer to that question.

* * *

**author's note**

Eh. Not much to say. Took me quite a while to knock this out. I'm afraid I might still be dragging it out too long.


End file.
